For The Thrill Of It Part 18

The path of progress, Darrow argued, led inexorably to the abolition of the death penalty. Society looked back in horror at the barbaric punishments inflicted in previous centuries for petty crimes; and 100 years from now, in the twenty-first century, society would recoil at the realization that capital punishment had been a part of the penal code in the United States. Would John Caverly side with the barbarism of the past or align himself with the steady march of progress? Would he conspire with the forces of reaction? Or would he stand with the enlightenment of the future? "If your honor can hang a boy 18, some other judge can hang him at 17, or 16, or 14. Some day, some day, if there is any such thing as progress in the world, if there is any spirit of humanity that is working in the hearts of men, some day they will look back upon this as a barbarous age which deliberately turned the hands of the clock backward, which deliberately set itself in the way of all progress toward humanity and sympathy, and committed an unforgivable act."

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26. CLARENCE DARROW IN COURT. CLARENCE DARROW IN COURT.

Hanging Nathan and Richard would be a futile act of revenge, only a gesture, an appeas.e.m.e.nt of the mob; in all other respects, it would accomplish nothing. It would not bring Bobby Franks back to life. It would not deter crime, as the state had claimed; but it would be a savage act, certainly, an act that would add its measure of violence to society and diminish man's capacity for understanding, love, and charity. "I know the future is with me and what I stand for here; not merely for the lives of these two unfortunate lads, but for all boys and all girls; all of the young, and as far as possible, for all of the old. I am pleading for life, understanding, charity and kindness, and the infinite mercy that forgives all. I am pleading that we overcome cruelty with kindness and hatred with love. I know the future is on my side. Your honor stands between the past and the future. You may hang these boys; you may hang them by the neck till they are dead. But in doing it you will turn your face toward the past.... I am pleading for a time when hatred and cruelty will not control the hearts of men. When we can learn by reason and judgement and understanding and faith that all life is worth saving and that mercy is the highest attribute of man."

Perhaps two-thirds of the spectators were women; Darrow's seductive voice caught at their emotions, and as he spoke of the hanging that might await Nathan and Richard, some women quietly began to cry. There was a oppressive mood in the courtroom; Darrow's reflective, somber words spoke of the tragedy of two wasted lives. Neither Richard nor Nathan had a future-even if each boy escaped the scaffold, he would spend many years shut up between the walls of a harsh and unforgiving prison cell.

The crowd sat still. There was a breathless silence in the courtroom, broken only by the sound of Darrow's voice, and from Dearborn Street, six stories below, the faint screech of trolleys grinding along their metal tracks. Darrow was both solemn and mournful; he no longer waved his arms at the judge or brandished his eyegla.s.ses or strummed his galluses; his posture seemed more erect and his demeanor more dignified. He seemed to be speaking as much to the spectators behind him as to the judge before him as he ended his speech in a resolute voice that appealed for understanding and compa.s.sion, not so much for Nathan and Richard as for those many other boys, less privileged, who would be judged in years to come. "If I can succeed, my greatest award and my greatest hope and my greatest compensation will be that I have done something for the tens of thousand of other boys, for the other unfortunates who must tread the same way that these poor youths have trod, that I have done something to help human understanding, to temper justice with mercy, to overcome hate with love."38 There was a momentary silence in the courtroom as Darrow finished speaking, just a few minutes before four o'clock. The silence lasted a minute, relieved only by the sound of Darrow shuffling together the papers that lay before him.

"If your honor please," Benjamin Bachrach broke the silence, glancing at his watch to check the time, "will you adjourn at this time?"

"We will suspend now," Caverly replied, "until tomorrow morning at 10.30 o'clock."39

HOW, ROBERT C CROWE WONDERED as he listened to Darrow's final words, had the old man managed to fool so many people? Darrow was a mendacious windbag, a charlatan, who lulled his audience with empty sentiments and meaningless phrases. He had replaced the progressive principles of his youth with an eagerness to represent anyone, no matter how corrupt or vicious, for the right price. It was a puzzle, Crowe admitted to himself, that the American public continued to regard Darrow as a secular saint whose eccentric philosophy only added to his charm. For many Americans, Darrow could do no wrong; he was the most visible reminder of the heyday of Progressivism; he seemed, with his humanitarian p.r.o.nouncements, just as utopian and radical as the young lawyer who, thirty years earlier, had championed Eugene Debs in his fight against the railroads. as he listened to Darrow's final words, had the old man managed to fool so many people? Darrow was a mendacious windbag, a charlatan, who lulled his audience with empty sentiments and meaningless phrases. He had replaced the progressive principles of his youth with an eagerness to represent anyone, no matter how corrupt or vicious, for the right price. It was a puzzle, Crowe admitted to himself, that the American public continued to regard Darrow as a secular saint whose eccentric philosophy only added to his charm. For many Americans, Darrow could do no wrong; he was the most visible reminder of the heyday of Progressivism; he seemed, with his humanitarian p.r.o.nouncements, just as utopian and radical as the young lawyer who, thirty years earlier, had championed Eugene Debs in his fight against the railroads.

But Crowe knew better. Darrow was irreligious and irresponsible, an attorney whose deterministic and atheistic philosophy justified and excused crime; Darrow's beliefs had no consequences for himself, of course, but they encouraged murder, violence, and depravity. Darrow seemed a kindly old man, with his calls for mercy and understanding, but he espoused a dangerous philosophy, a philosophy that would remove legal and judicial restraints and leave society vulnerable to the forces of mayhem and chaos.40 The next morning Crowe rose to his feet to address the court. It was now his turn to speak. He had changed his shirt shortly before entering the courtroom, but already there were faint patches of perspiration on his shirtfront; in his futile protest against the intolerable heat, Crowe mopped the perspiration from his face with his white handkerchief.

It was ridiculous, Crowe began, for Darrow to say that the notoriety of the killing was on account of the wealth of the families; and it was false to claim that he, Crowe, refused to treat this murder like other murders and agree to a plea bargain because of the wealth and reputation of the families. The kidnapping of a child was the source of the notoriety; it was a crime that had touched the heart of everyone in the city; and it had been the topic of every conversation in Chicago throughout the week after the murder, before anyone had known the ident.i.ty of the killers.

"There is something," Crowe shouted, angrily, pounding his right fist into his left palm in emphasis, "in the nature of the crime itself that arrests the attention of every person in the land. A child is stolen. The heart of every father, the heart of every mother, the heart of every man who has a heart, goes out to the parents of the child." Crowe turned in the direction of Nathan and Richard sitting behind the defense attorneys. "Their wealth in my judgment has not anything to do with this except it permits a defense here seldom given to men in the criminal court. Take away the millions of the Loebs and the Leopolds, and Clarence Darrow's tongue is as silent as the tomb of Julius Caesar.... Clarence Darrow once said that a poor man on trial here was disposed of in fifteen minutes, but if he was rich and committed the same crime and he got a good lawyer, his trial would last twenty-one days. Well, they got three lawyers and it has lasted just a little bit longer."41 And Darrow's a.s.sertion that there was no motive for the killing? That also was false, Crowe continued. There was the ransom, of course; he would talk about that later. But one motive, certainly, was Nathan's desire to rape a young child. Why had the killers removed Bobby's trousers three hours before disposing of the body in the culvert by the Pennsylvania Railroad tracks? Bobby's shirt and jacket had remained on his body until they had arrived at Wolf Lake. Only then had Nathan removed the boy's remaining clothing before pouring acid on Bobby's face and genitals.

"How," Crowe demanded, staring directly at Nathan as he spoke, "do you undress a child? First the little coat, the collar, the tie, the shirt, and the last thing is their trousers. Yet, immediately after killing this poor little boy, his trousers alone came off, and for three hours that dead little boy, without his trousers but with all his other clothes on him, remained in that car, and they did not take the balance of the clothes off until after they pushed the body into the culvert. You have before you"-Crowe indicated it to the judge-"the coroner's report, and the coroner's physician says that when little Robert Franks was examined, his r.e.c.t.u.m was distended that much," Crowe held his thumb and forefinger one inch apart, "indicating almost the size of a half-dollar."

"If the court please." Benjamin Bachrach was suddenly on his feet, signaling for the judge's attention. "I take exception to that statement. The coroner's report said there was no sign of recent dilation."

"Your honor has the report," Crowe shouted in reply. "I want to call Your honor's attention to the fact that this little naked body lay in the water all night long with running water going over it, and that is why there wasn't any other evidence." The coroner had found no traces of s.e.m.e.n-it had been taken away by the water pa.s.sing through the culvert-but the r.e.c.t.u.m was distended beyond its normal size. One of the killers-most probably Nathan-had raped Bobby.

"This is the first time," Bachrach protested, "it has been charged in this case that the committing of a s.e.xual act was the purpose of this crime upon the boy...."

"I think I know," Crowe sneered, with heavy sarcasm, "what the evidence was in this case and I think all my arguments are based on facts and not on dreams or phantasies.... The Coroner's report says that he had a distended r.e.c.t.u.m, and from that fact, and the fact that the pants were taken off, and the fact that they are perverts, I have a right to argue that they committed an act of perversion. That is the extent of my argument. I do not contend that the coroner's report states that an act of perversion was committed. It merely says that the r.e.c.t.u.m was distended. There was no evidence of s.e.m.e.n, but it was washed away, I contend."42 There was only one way to settle the dispute. Had there been an enlarged r.e.c.t.u.m or not? What did the coroner's report say?

"Let the coroner's report be read," Caverly ordered. He looked out across the courtroom. The audience, mesmerized by Crowe's sudden revelations, stared back at him expectantly, waiting for the reading of the report. "The women will leave the courtroom," Caverly commanded, "and we will put the report into the record."43 A few dozen women rose reluctantly to depart, but the majority-at least 100, perhaps more-remained seated, silently defying the judge's order. Amused laughter from the men murmured its way around the room. No one among the bailiffs could recall another time when so many spectators had so brazenly challenged a judge's authority.44 "I have asked the ladies to leave the room," Caverly repeated angrily. "Now I want you to leave. If you do not, I will have the bailiffs escort you to the hallway. There is nothing left here now but a lot of stuff that is not fit for you to hear." Caverly rapped his gavel on the bench as four bailiffs moved among the crowd, encouraging the women to leave the courtroom. "Step out into the hallway!" he ordered.45 An elderly reporter, a woman from one of the city's newspapers, approached the bench. "Does that mean that even us-?"

"It means that all of you ought to go!" interrupted Caverly, waving his arm imperiously at the cl.u.s.ter of female reporters standing before him.46 A reading of the report was inconclusive-perhaps. On the one hand, the coroner's physician had concluded that his postmortem had shown "no evidence of a recent forcible dilation." Yet on the other hand, he had written that "the r.e.c.t.u.m was dilated, [and] would easily admit one finger." Crowe would not back down-after all, the physician had examined the corpse more than twenty-four hours after the murder, and, in the interim, Crowe claimed, other evidence, traces of s.e.m.e.n, for example, would have disappeared.47 But did Crowe have corroborative evidence of s.e.xual a.s.sault? The physician's report, argued Walter Bachrach, favored the defense, and if Crowe wanted to prove rape, he had to provide more substantial evidence that such an attack had indeed occurred. And, if Crowe could not show that either Nathan or Richard had raped the boy, then where was the motive for the crime?

"Before the State's Attorney would be ent.i.tled," Bachrach argued, "to draw any inference that there was any evidence of mistreatment of the body in the s.e.xual way, there would have to be some evidence upon which he could base such an argument or from which he could draw such an inference...."

"Oh, no," Crowe interrupted, "there is other evidence."

"Pardon me-?"

"The evidence is that these two defendants are perverts, and when they took the body of the boy in, the first thing they took off was his trousers."48 Neither defense nor prosecution, Caverly chided, was able to prove its case. Crowe had made the claim and he had provided his evidence-he had the right, in his closing speech, to summarize his case without interruption from the other side.

"May we have a recess now," Crowe appealed to the judge, "until tomorrow morning?"

"There is nothing further," Caverly asked, "you have now that you want...?"

"I am through with that argument now anyway," Crowe replied.49 Robert Crowe returned to court the following day, Wednesday, 27 August, with more revelations. He had caught the defense by surprise the previous day with his accusation that the defendants had s.e.xually a.s.saulted Bobby Franks; now, on the second day of his summation, Crowe once again had come to court prepared to reveal new secrets about the murder.

There was, he claimed, something mysterious about the relationship between the two killers. How had they become locked together in their mutual embrace? Their supposed fantasies, Crowe argued, were fabrications, constructed after the murder, all part of an elaborate scheme to fool the judge into believing that Nathan and Richard were mentally ill. Before the day of the killing, no one had ever heard Nathan mention his desire to be the powerful slave of a beneficent king; nor had Richard ever confided to anyone-apart from Nathan-his wish that he might be a master criminal capable of committing the perfect crime. Because the fantasies had been conjured into existence only after the murder, Crowe argued, those fantasies could not, as the defense had claimed, explain the relationship between Nathan and Richard.

One pa.s.sage in the Bowman-Hulbert report, the secret report prepared by the defense but leaked to the newspapers, had caught Crowe's attention. Richard had mentioned four crimes-denoted by the letters A, B, C, and D-to the scientists. What were those crimes, Crowe wondered. No one knew; the defense psychiatrists had decided not to ask Richard about them. Did anyone know the deeds Richard claimed to have committed? Yes, replied Crowe, in answer to his own question; there was one person who did know. Nathan Leopold knew, and Nathan had blackmailed Richard Loeb into a s.e.xual relationship. "I will tell you, your honor, and I think I will demonstrate it beyond the peradventure of a doubt," Crowe explained, "that these four episodes, that these four crimes, were known to Leopold, and he blackmailed Loeb, he threatened Loeb with exposure if he did not submit to him, and Loeb had to go along with Leopold.... Loeb had committed major crimes, four of them, that he would not even tell his lawyers about, that he would not tell the doctors about, and they concluded it was a bad thing to make inquiry about.... Leopold knew about these.... Loeb was afraid of Leopold.... He contemplated killing him so that he would not be in his power."50 The defense had not intended that the Bowman-Hulbert report be made public, but it had found its way to the state's attorney's office nevertheless. Crowe waved his copy triumphantly in his right hand as he addressed the court. What, Crowe asked, as he prepared to read from the report, had Richard Loeb said to the psychiatrists about his companion, Nathan Leopold? "Let us see what the evidence is on that.... 'In a way, I have always been sort of afraid of him. He intimidated me by threatening to expose me...and I could not stand it.'" Richard had been terrified that Nathan would spill his secrets, terrified enough to contemplate killing Nathan. "He was afraid," Crowe continued, "of Leopold; he was afraid that Leopold might tell of A, B, C and D. 'I could not stand it. I had often thought of the possibility of shooting him.'"51 There had been a reason, a very good reason, for Richard's insistence that they kill Bobby Franks by strangulation, each boy pulling on the end of a rope tied around the victim's neck. As soon as Nathan pulled on that rope, he too would be guilty of murder and would no longer be able to blackmail Richard into a s.e.xual relationship. Richard Loeb, Crowe explained, was "to pull one end and Leopold the other; and the reason he wanted that done was [that]...Leopold had something on him. Leopold knew about the crimes A, B, C and D, and in this murder he was going to make Leopold pull the rope so he would have something equal on Leopold."52 The newspapers had spoken of the search for excitement, a thrill, as a motive for the killing. Two teenagers with too much time on their hands, perhaps, looking for a new sensation. But the Bowman-Hulbert report indicated that Richard Loeb had been a quiet, studious boy. Crowe picked up his copy of the report. "What does Bowman and Hulbert say about it? 'He never appeared to crave a thrill or excitement, but was rather quiet in his conduct.'" Nor, according to the report, had either Nathan or Richard derived any pleasure from the thought of murder. On the contrary; each boy had approached the task with revulsion and apprehension. It was not true, Crowe continued, that the killing had provided Nathan and Richard, as the defense had claimed, with "the thrill that they tried to make you believe. 'They antic.i.p.ated a few unpleasant minutes.' Not pleasant minutes; not the thrill and the delight and the fast beating heart that they tell you d.i.c.kie Loeb has, if he has got a heart at all. 'They antic.i.p.ated a few unpleasant minutes in strangling him.'"53 Clarence Darrow had sneered at the state for its claim that ransom was the motive for the murder. But, Crowe continued, the Bowman-Hulbert report itself, a report commissioned by the defense, demonstrated that money provided the rationale for the kidnapping. Had not Nathan and Richard first fixed on kidnapping a boy whom Nathan disliked, a boy who had insulted Nathan? At that moment, they had not yet thought of a secure way to obtain the money, and so they had abandoned the plan. But if they had been seeking a thrill, why would they not go ahead with the plan? If the ransom was insignificant, as Clarence Darrow had claimed, why would they abandon their plan on account of the difficulty in obtaining the ransom? And why had Nathan and Richard asked that the ransom be paid in old, unmarked bills? If they had desired only excitement, a thrill, what difference would it have made if the ransom money was marked or unmarked? If they had had no need of the money, why would they have asked for old bills?

"Money is the motive in this case," shouted Crowe, taking up the report once again, "and I will prove it repeatedly by their own evidence.... 'Neither of them, however, could think of any simple or certain way of securing the money. They continued to discuss the matter, weighing the pros and con, suggesting methods only to pick flaws in them. In March 1924 the patient conceived the idea of securing'-What? The thrill? The excitement? No. '-conceived the idea of securing the money by having it thrown off of a moving train. This idea was discussed in great detail, and gradually developed into a carefully systematized plan.'"54 They had kidnapped Bobby Franks for the ransom, but because Bobby could identify Richard to the police, they had killed him as soon as he had stepped into the car. The murder was ancillary to the kidnapping. If they could have kidnapped the boy without killing him, they would have done so, but since they would have put themselves at risk of capture, they had to commit murder.

"Then the motive for the murder was their own self preservation. You do not have to take my word for it. Take the word of...the alienists, who say the boys told them that themselves. 'It was necessary to kill him at once, to avoid any possible identification by the victim should he escape, or their plans go awry.' Was this killing done as we have been led to believe by the defense, merely for the thrill, your honor, or the excitement? What does the doctor further say on that? 'The patient'-Loeb-'did not antic.i.p.ate the actual killing with any pleasure.' It was not for the thrill or the excitement. The original crime was the kidnaping for money. The killing was an afterthought, to prevent their identification, and their subsequent apprehension and punishment. He said he did not antic.i.p.ate the killing with any pleasure. It was merely necessary in order to get the money. Motive? 'The killing apparently has no other significance'-now, this is not my argument, your honor, but of their own report, their own evidence-'The killing apparently has no other significance than being an inevitable part of a perfect crime in covering one possible trace of identification.' Drs. Hulbert and Bowman were told by these defendants, as I told your honor, that the killing had no significance here except to prevent their being apprehended and convicted if the victim escaped."55 Crowe had now finished reading from the Bowman-Hulbert report. As he replaced it on the table, he took up a sheaf of letters held together by a large black metal clip. Several were from Richard's elder brother Allan; others were from Richard's cla.s.smates at the University of Michigan; and, as Crowe read each one to the courtroom, his audience heard the evidence of Richard's gambling. Here was a letter from Allan Loeb, dated 19 May 1924, just two days before the murder, warning Richard not to wager so high. Allan was glad to hear that Richard had won so much money from Sammy Schmaltz in a recent card game, but suppose, he warned Richard, instead of winning such a large amount, he had lost. And here was a letter from one of Richard's friends at the University of Michigan, regretting that he had not seen Richard on a recent visit to Chicago-"but I always feel as though I am intruding when you guys are gambling, because I don't gamble that high"-but hoping, nevertheless, to see him soon.56 Crowe had more doc.u.ments on the table, bank statements for Richard's accounts. He picked them up, then spread them fanwise before him on the table. What, Crowe asked, could explain the large amounts of money that flowed into and out of Richard's accounts each month? Richard received a monthly allowance of $250 from his father; yet each month, large sums of money, considerably larger than his allowance, entered and left his bank accounts. In May 1923, he had deposited $645 into his account at the Bank of Charlevoix; in June, he had deposited $683; in July, $588; and in September, $602. In October, Richard had deposited $535 in his account at the Hyde Park State Bank; in November, $1,549; and in December, $420. In 1924, he had continued to deposit approximately $500 into his account each month. On Thursday, 15 May, just one week before the murder, he had deposited $536.57 What was the source of this money? Had he won it at cards? Or was it the proceeds of his crimes? "Would A, B, C and D explain it," Crowe asked, "or explain part of them, or are these moneys that he won in gambling?...All the way through, if your honor please, all the way through this most unusual crime runs money, money, money."58 It was now almost over. Crowe spoke again on Thursday, 28 August, excoriating Darrow for his philosophy-"his peculiar philosophy of life"-and warning Caverly that any sentence less than hanging would be tantamount to the court's approval of Darrow's beliefs. It was not an end to capital punishment that Darrow sought, Crowe cautioned, but an end to all punishment. For if Leopold and Loeb were not accountable for their actions, could anyone be held to account for any action? Environment and heredity had determined the boys' actions, Darrow had argued, and as a consequence, any punishment for the murder was inappropriate and futile. Darrow, in his closing speech, had absolved Leopold and Loeb of blame for the murder-his success would surely undermine the system of criminal justice.59 To sentence them to the penitentiary would be to accept Darrow's argument. Without fixing responsibility, how could one inflict punishment? And without punishment, what would deter crime? It was a recipe for chaos, Crowe warned, and Caverly, if he failed to sentence Leopold and Loeb to death, would condemn himself to obloquy. "I want to tell you the real defense in this case, your honor." Crowe's nasal voice, raspy after speaking for three days, rose above the courtroom like a buzz saw. Crowe's anger was visible in his face as he pointed an accusatory finger at Clarence Darrow. "It is Clarence Darrow's dangerous philosophy of life. He said to your honor that he was not pleading alone for these two young men. He said he was looking to the future, that he was thinking of the ten thousand young boys that in the future would fill the chairs his clients filled and he wants to soften the law.... I want to tell your honor that it would be much better if G.o.d had not caused this crime to be disclosed. It would have been much better if it went unsolved and these men went unwhipped of justice. It would not have done near the harm to this community as will be done if your honor, as chief justice of this great court, puts your official seal of approval upon the doctrines of anarchy preached by Clarence Darrow as a defense in this case. Society can endure, the law can endure and criminals escape, but if a court such as this court should say that he believes in the doctrine of Darrow, that you ought not to hang when the law says you should, a greater blow has been struck to our inst.i.tutions than by a hundred, yes, a thousand murders."60 It had been Robert Crowe's most eloquent speech in the Criminal Court. He had countered the defense point by point, blow by blow; he had exposed Darrow as a dangerous charlatan; he had even established a motive for the crime. Crowe resumed his seat with quiet confidence and, around him, his colleagues and a.s.sociates pressed forward to touch his arm and to whisper their congratulations.

John Caverly had already started speaking, addressing himself to the many critics who had faulted his conduct of the hearing. There had been no delay in the administration of justice, Caverly explained. The police had arrested Leopold and Loeb just ten days after the murder; the state's attorney had indicted the suspects within a few days; and the trial had begun six weeks after the grand jury had voted the indictments. The Criminal Court had brought the indictments to trial ahead of thirty-four other indictments for murder in Cook County that year. The wealth and reputation of the families had had no bearing on the case and had never caused any delay in the proceedings.61 Some critics wondered why-because Leopold and Loeb had readily confessed-it had been necessary for the Criminal Court to hear any evidence on the murder. But, according to the criminal code of Illinois, Caverly explained, it was the obligation of the court to listen to testimony both in mitigation and in aggravation if either the defense or the prosecution so requested. Commentators in the daily newspapers had frequently made comparisons with the speedy administration of criminal justice in Britain, but such comparisons were beside the point. Since a defendant could not be legally executed in Illinois before the tenth day of the term of the state supreme court after judgment, there could have been no executions in Illinois, whatever the circ.u.mstances of the case, before October.62 John Caverly had finished. It remained only that he set a date for sentencing, and then the hearing would end. "I am going to take this case under advis.e.m.e.nt, gentlemen." Caverly leaned forward slightly, speaking to the attorneys gathered before him. "I think I ought to have ten days or so.... I will fix the day at September 10th, at 9.30 o'clock, and I will say to those people who are here now that there will be n.o.body admitted in this room on that day, except members of the press and members of the family and sheriffs and the State's Attorney's staff."63 The bailiffs started moving around the room, quietly persuading the crowd to disperse. The photographers abandoned their vantage points, relinquishing their positions at the front of the court; the reporters gathered together their notebooks and pens, pausing only to gossip briefly among themselves; and the stenographers boxed up their machines for the final time. Robert Crowe, ebullient, smiling broadly, and confident of victory, had lit a large cigar and, surrounded by friends and colleagues, was striding toward the exit. Clarence Darrow spoke briefly with Caverly and, looking somber and subdued, stepped ponderously toward the elevator that would take him down to Austin Avenue. The courtroom was soon silent, empty, abandoned-nothing moved except the hands of the clock on the wall as they counted down the hours that remained before John Caverly would p.r.o.nounce sentence.64

16 SENTENCINGSAt.u.r.dAY, 30 A 30 AUGUST 1924T 1924THURSDAY, 11 S 11 SEPTEMBER 1924 1924The testimony in this case reveals a crime of singular atrocity. It is, in a sense, inexplicable; but it is not thereby rendered less inhuman or repulsive. It was deliberately planned and prepared for during a considerable period of time. It was executed with every feature of callousness and cruelty.... The court is satisfied that neither in the act itself, nor in its motive or lack of motive, nor in the antecedents of the offenders, can he find any mitigating circ.u.mstances.1John Caverly, Chief Justice of the Criminal Court, 10 September 1924 BRIGHT SUNLIGHT FLOODED THE LIVING room. The maid had recently cleaned the apartment, and swirls of dust, launched into the air by her exertions, were caught in the rays of light that filtered through the large windows that faced onto Lake Michigan. room. The maid had recently cleaned the apartment, and swirls of dust, launched into the air by her exertions, were caught in the rays of light that filtered through the large windows that faced onto Lake Michigan.

The ringing of the telephone broke the stillness of the afternoon. John Caverly was not there to answer it-he was spending the day at a funeral service for a college friend-but his wife, Charlotte, was in their apartment at the Edgewater Beach Hotel, and now she stepped across the living room to the hallway to pick up the receiver.

Even though the hearing on Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb had almost ended, she was still finding it difficult to relax. So many cranks had bombarded John with their demands and threats-hundreds and hundreds, it seemed, all wanting the judge to send Leopold and Loeb to the gallows and threatening to kill John if he saved them from execution and sent them to the penitentiary.

She answered the phone and heard the click as the operator made the connection. The man's voice on the other end was deep and authoritative; it boomed the news down the wire with sudden, shocking clarity, "This is Captain Roberts of the police department." The speaker paused slightly as if he were gathering breath. "Your husband, the judge, was shot to death as he was entering the gate of Calvary cemetery. He is there now! Come quick!"

Charlotte Caverly gave a short, sharp scream. The receiver fell to the floor. It was only a few steps to the door, where, outside the apartment, a police guard was standing watch.

"Quick! Get an automobile," she shouted at the young constable.

"My husband has been shot."2 It was a cruel hoax. John Caverly stood by the cemetery entrance, chatting in a small group of college friends, as the police car screeched to a halt and his wife ran to his side, crying that she had thought he was killed.

IT WAS A MALICIOUS TRICK THAT RATCHETED the tension tighter, now only nine days before Wednesday, 10 September, when Caverly would p.r.o.nounce his decision. Caverly was, for the moment at least, the focus of the cranks; he was receiving hundreds of letters every day urging the death penalty for Leopold and Loeb. Occasionally the threat to his personal safety was more visceral: on 5 September, Harry Rabinowitz, a former patient at the Illinois Northern Hospital for the Insane, was found roaming the corridors of the Criminal Court Building with a razor in his pocket, demanding to speak to Caverly. the tension tighter, now only nine days before Wednesday, 10 September, when Caverly would p.r.o.nounce his decision. Caverly was, for the moment at least, the focus of the cranks; he was receiving hundreds of letters every day urging the death penalty for Leopold and Loeb. Occasionally the threat to his personal safety was more visceral: on 5 September, Harry Rabinowitz, a former patient at the Illinois Northern Hospital for the Insane, was found roaming the corridors of the Criminal Court Building with a razor in his pocket, demanding to speak to Caverly.3 Caverly's term as chief justice of the Criminal Court concluded on 31 August, only three days after Robert Crowe's closing statement had marked the end of the hearing. Caverly would have preferred his valediction to be less controversial, less contentious. As he moved through his rooms in the Criminal Court Building on Friday, 30 August, packing up his law books, he reflected that whatever his decision on 10 September, he was certain to disappoint someone; his career as a judge would end in the most explosive possible manner.4 He had not yet, Caverly admitted to a reporter from the Chicago American Chicago American, decided on the punishment; he would think it over that week and write his verdict on the following weekend. He regretted only that the decision was his alone-it was a heavy burden for one man to carry. "I wish this case had gone to a jury. If it had gone to a jury I would be the thirteenth man and not the one and only one to render the decision. I think at least three judges should sit in all such cases." Perhaps, as part of his closing statement, he would suggest "a new law to cover cases of this kind...that hereafter when a plea of guilty is entered or a jury trial waived in a capital case, three judges be required to hear the case and render a decision."5

WHILE J JOHN C CAVERLY MARKED the conclusion of the hearing with arrangements for his retirement, Jacob Franks was preparing to sell the family home on Ellis Avenue. The situation had become insufferable: every day, crowds of spectators gathered outside the house, gawking, pointing, staring, waiting expectantly for a member of the family to appear, and ignoring requests from the police guard to move on. Cars pa.s.sed slowly up and down the street, circling the block, their occupants hoping to glimpse something that would make the journey to Kenwood worthwhile. And each morning, the mailman would deliver hundreds of letters, some in sympathy, but the majority in hatred and anger and avarice, threatening the Franks children; demanding money; scolding the parents for some imaginary reason; or proposing fantastical theories about Bobby's death. the conclusion of the hearing with arrangements for his retirement, Jacob Franks was preparing to sell the family home on Ellis Avenue. The situation had become insufferable: every day, crowds of spectators gathered outside the house, gawking, pointing, staring, waiting expectantly for a member of the family to appear, and ignoring requests from the police guard to move on. Cars pa.s.sed slowly up and down the street, circling the block, their occupants hoping to glimpse something that would make the journey to Kenwood worthwhile. And each morning, the mailman would deliver hundreds of letters, some in sympathy, but the majority in hatred and anger and avarice, threatening the Franks children; demanding money; scolding the parents for some imaginary reason; or proposing fantastical theories about Bobby's death.6 It was a bitter daily reminder of their son's death that Jacob and Flora Franks could see the Loeb family home on the other side of the street; it was an unpleasant coincidence that fifteen years previously, Jacob Franks had purchased from Albert Loeb the lot on which his house stood. And so, on 30 August, Joseph Trinz, owner of the movie theater chain Lubiner & Trinz, bought the house for $60,000. The Franks family then moved to a suite of rooms in the Drake Hotel, far from the street that had given them so much pain.7 Throughout the hearing, Albert and Anna Loeb had stayed at their country estate, Charlevoix. Now it seemed unlikely that they would ever return to their house at 5017 Ellis Avenue; it was more probable that they would sell it as quickly as possible.

Only Nathan Leopold Sr. had any desire to remain in Kenwood; a widower since the death of his wife three years previously, he was reluctant to move away from his many friends in the neighborhood. "I have known happiness here," he told his sons, "I have found peace in the past in this home, and no matter where I go, I can find no greater peace."8

WHILE THE FAMILIES AGONIZED OVER such decisions, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb spent their days in the Cook County jail greeting visitors, playing baseball in the prison yard, and talking with reporters. such decisions, Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb spent their days in the Cook County jail greeting visitors, playing baseball in the prison yard, and talking with reporters.

Some of their observations to the journalists seemed calculated to provoke, to provide images of pampered youths now confined to a prison regimen that was, nevertheless, not unduly onerous. The warden, Wesley Westbrook, had arranged for Sunday concerts in the prison; Nathan and Richard attended with the other prisoners and seemed to enjoy themselves, even if there was an occasional reminder of happier days. Richard recalled to a journalist that he had first heard the tune "Hot Lips" at a "dancing party on a yacht on Lake Michigan three years ago. I was dancing with my partner along the deck, close to the rail, the waves rolling, the boat pitching and tossing, to that tune." And now he was hearing it again, but this time in the prison canteen inside the county jail.

But, Richard said, things could be worse, and he was not at all despondent. Prison life was good for him; he now had "regular meals, regular exercise and regular sleep.... I am feeling fine. Instead of getting in at 3 a.m. and getting up at 7 to play golf or tennis, I now get at least eight hours regular sleep."9 Richard and Nathan were never bored. There were always visitors: former girlfriends, relatives, and cla.s.smates-and many casual visitors, unknown to either of them, who simply dropped by for a chat and a gossip. The murderers had become celebrities; and in the relaxed atmosphere of the county jail, Wesley Westbrook permitted them to see anyone they wished. On one memorable occasion, six players from the Chicago Cubs appeared at the warden's office with a request "to tour the jail and see the young murderers." Charles (Gabby) Hartnett, one of the team's leading sluggers, spent time with Nathan in the prison yard, coaching him on his batting style, advising him on his swinging movements and his stance at the plate.10 Their celebrity was exhilarating. Their every remark found its way into the newspapers: only Edward, prince of Wales, then on a weeklong visit to the United States, received more attention in the media. Nathan announced plans to write his biography, which, he promised, he would offer to the newspapers for serialization before publishing it as a book. "I want to write my memoirs," he told the reporters, "including an absolutely frank and clear record of my life in jail and of the reactions experienced by a prisoner.... Perhaps I will sell it to the highest bidder; perhaps the reporter who has given me the best breaks will get it. I don't know just yet."11 And if he were to be executed? Nathan had already drawn up his will; he would leave his bird collection to the Field Museum of Natural History, and no doubt his specimens would take pride of place among the museum's collections.12 Nathan had read in the newspapers that bookies were offering odds as high as three to one against a death sentence. Thousands of dollars had been wagered on the result in Chicago's betting shops. Perhaps, Nathan suggested to the reporters, they should have a wager among themselves. "You fellows ought to get up a parlay on it," he joked. He would like to bet on the result himself, he added, but the regulations in the county jail forbade the prisoners from gambling.13 Nathan was an intellectual, of course-they had not forgotten, had they?-and, if he was hanged, he informed the journalists, he would communicate with them from beyond the grave, answering their questions on such topics as the nature of happiness, the relationship between spiritual and physical existence, the rewards and penalties of the afterlife, and the ability to experience sensations after death.

Perhaps, Nathan continued, he would make a speech from the gallows, a speech that would command everyone's attention! "I will say something," he predicted to the reporter from the New York Sun Sun, "that will make the world listen."14 His brother Michael visited Nathan in jail to warn him of the distress his comments were causing his father, but Nathan was reluctant to leave the stage-it was impossible to force him away from the spotlight, no matter how much grief he caused his relatives.

CLARENCE D DARROW HAD LONG AGO abandoned all hope of getting Nathan to desist from making foolish statements to the press. In any case, the defense attorneys were preoccupied with possible appeals if Caverly imposed the death penalty. abandoned all hope of getting Nathan to desist from making foolish statements to the press. In any case, the defense attorneys were preoccupied with possible appeals if Caverly imposed the death penalty.

For example, could the defense appeal to the Illinois supreme court for a second trial on a writ of error? Because of the guilty plea, Darrow believed, that possibility would be the least likely option available to the defense. "I'm of the opinion that the court has final jurisdiction because of the plea," Darrow told a reporter from the Chicago American Chicago American; "I doubt if a writ of error could be prayed for."15 On the other hand, the trial of Gene Geary in 1921 had provided a precedent for an appeal based on the claim that Nathan and Richard had become insane since sentencing. It had worked for Gene Geary; why would it not work for them? True, a jury must decide the sanity of Nathan and Richard, but perhaps, Darrow believed, enough time would have elapsed between the murder and a second trial for some of the public indignation to fade away.

That was their best chance, and so, even before Caverly had given his verdict, statements began to appear in the newspapers-planted by the defense attorneys, of course-that both Nathan and Richard were rapidly deteriorating. Nathan Leopold's mental condition was already cause for concern, one anonymous source claimed; despite his apparent buoyancy in prison, Nathan showed "very definite traces of dementia praec.o.x."16 If the Illinois supreme court allowed an appeal on the claim that Nathan and Richard had become insane since sentencing, the jury in a second trial would decide on the sanity of the defendants. If they were sane, they would be immediately executed; if, however, they had become insane, then the court would send them to the Illinois Asylum for Insane Criminals at Chester and the death sentences would be carried out only if they regained their sanity.17 Other possibilities existed but seemed remote. The judge might, on his own initiative, decide that the defendants' sanity was in question; if so, he would, instead of pa.s.sing sentence, convene a jury to decide the question of their sanity.

Alternatively, Clarence Darrow could present a motion to the judge asking permission to withdraw the guilty plea and change the plea to not guilty. The recent trial of Russell Scott, a street hoodlum who had killed a store clerk during a robbery at the City Hall pharmacy, gave Darrow a legal precedent. Scott's lawyer, Walter Stanton, had insisted that the court had not formally notified his client that the judge could send him to the gallows. But this too seemed an improbable course of action for Darrow. John Caverly had been punctilious in advising Nathan and Richard that he had the power to sentence them to death if they pleaded guilty.18 Such speculation might continue endlessly-or at least until the judge p.r.o.nounced his verdict on 10 September.

IN THE C CRIMINAL C COURT B BUILDING on the eve of sentencing, the sheriff, Peter Hoffman, was meeting with the chief bailiff, Thomas Brockmeyer. Hoffman was worried. He had received many threats-threats to kill the judge, threats to blow up the Criminal Court Building, threats to lynch Leopold and Loeb. And as many as 5,000 people might gather outside the Criminal Court, all hoping to enter the courtroom; Hoffman had to ensure that the crowd did not overwhelm his police force. on the eve of sentencing, the sheriff, Peter Hoffman, was meeting with the chief bailiff, Thomas Brockmeyer. Hoffman was worried. He had received many threats-threats to kill the judge, threats to blow up the Criminal Court Building, threats to lynch Leopold and Loeb. And as many as 5,000 people might gather outside the Criminal Court, all hoping to enter the courtroom; Hoffman had to ensure that the crowd did not overwhelm his police force.19 So, on Tuesday evening, just fourteen hours before Caverly was to p.r.o.nounce sentence, Hoffman rehea.r.s.ed with Brockmeyer the security details for tomorrow's court hearing. There would be seventy highway policemen, all on motorcycles, to guard the streets around the Criminal Court Building; fifty mounted policemen would patrol Austin Avenue to protect the entrance; and over 100 patrolmen would establish a cordon around the building. Five squads of detectives would gather immediately in front of the entrance, both to deter illegitimate intruders and to provide protection to the judge and the attorneys as they arrived. Plainclothes policemen would mingle with the crowd beyond the line of uniformed patrolmen; they were there to spot potential a.s.sa.s.sins and gunmen. Thomas Brockmeyer would a.s.sign dozens of sheriffs and bailiffs to the corridors and elevators inside the Criminal Court Building. All other court sessions had been canceled, and no one would be allowed into the building except to attend Caverly's court on the sixth floor.20 Clarence Darrow, Walter and Benjamin Bachrach, members of the Leopold and Loeb families-all had received death threats through the mail. Even the psychiatrists were in fear of their lives-Harold Hulbert had requested an armed bodyguard after death threats had arrived at his home. But clearly Caverly was in the greatest danger; he told a reporter from the New York Times New York Times that he had "received threats which appear to have been sent in good faith, telling me that I will be killed in every manner, from crucifixion to being blown to pieces." that he had "received threats which appear to have been sent in good faith, telling me that I will be killed in every manner, from crucifixion to being blown to pieces."21 Could anything go wrong? Hoffman could not imagine tighter security; he had checked and rechecked all the possibilities. Could someone, nevertheless-a lone gunman, perhaps-get access to the building and kill Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb? Was Caverly safe from an a.s.sa.s.sin? Had all possible precautions been taken?

AT EIGHT-THIRTY ON THE MORNING of Wednesday, 10 September, Caverly, wearing a black suit and a gray fedora, emerged from the Edgewater Beach Hotel. Michael Hughes, the chief of detectives, escorted the judge to the limousine waiting by the curb and sat next to him on the rear seat. Two detectives, both dressed in street clothes, sat on a seat directly opposite, facing the rear of the car; each carried a machine gun, and Caverly noticed that each had a large black revolver tucked inside his belt. At the front, a police marksman sat next to the driver, his pump-action shotgun resting at a slight angle to his arm. of Wednesday, 10 September, Caverly, wearing a black suit and a gray fedora, emerged from the Edgewater Beach Hotel. Michael Hughes, the chief of detectives, escorted the judge to the limousine waiting by the curb and sat next to him on the rear seat. Two detectives, both dressed in street clothes, sat on a seat directly opposite, facing the rear of the car; each carried a machine gun, and Caverly noticed that each had a large black revolver tucked inside his belt. At the front, a police marksman sat next to the driver, his pump-action shotgun resting at a slight angle to his arm.

The limousine purred its way south on Sheridan Road. Two squad cars provided an escort; each contained armed deputies, their guns hidden un.o.btrusively below the line of sight from street level.

At Dearborn and Illinois streets, the lead driver showed his star to the police captain and the cavalcade made its way through the first police line. At Austin Avenue, the mounted police moved aside to let the cars pa.s.s, and as Caverly's car drew up to the entrance of the Criminal Court Building, Peter Hoffman detached himself from the small group of detectives to usher the judge into the building.22 It was now five minutes past nine and already the courtroom was full. No casual spectators were present-Hoffman had restricted entry to those with an immediate interest in the case: relatives and family members, attorneys and expert witnesses, journalists, photographers, court officials, and bailiffs. The crowd waited expectantly. Almost 200 people now filled the courtroom. Albert and Anna Loeb were not present to support their son-Albert Loeb had had a heart attack four days earlier, and he was recovering at Charlevoix. But Richard's brother Allan and his uncle Jacob Loeb were both in the courtroom, as were Nathan's father and his elder brother, Michael. Jacob Franks had been a daily presence in the courtroom throughout the hearing, but now he was absent. Only one member of the Franks family was in court that morning: Edwin Greshan, Bobby's uncle, sat immediately behind the state's attorney, waiting expectantly for the judge to appear.23 It was now nine-thirty. Caverly had given his permission to the radio station WGN to transmit from the courtroom that day, and now the broadcast was going out live across Chicago. Throughout the city, groups of Chicagoans cl.u.s.tered around radio sets to listen: the metropolis had paused in its morning bustle to hear the verdict. Housewives, shopkeepers, clerks, stenographers, construction workers, bankers and businessmen in the Loop, salesmen, transit workers-the city had come to a halt.24 Caverly had already entered the courtroom and was now mounting the steps to the bench. He carried a sheaf of doc.u.ments in his right hand, and as he took his position he began to open a brown manila envelope and remove the three sheets of lined paper on which he had written his verdict.

"Hear ye, hear ye," the bailiff's voice suddenly rang out through the court, bringing the spectators to order, "this honorable branch of the Circuit Court of Cook County is now in session." On the other side of the room, the clerk sang out the signal for the appearance of the defendants: "Richard Loeb and Nathan Leopold Jr." From a side entrance in the middle of the courtroom, both boys appeared, surrounded by guards, to make their way to chairs at the front of the room, slightly behind Clarence Darrow.

Before delivering his decision, Caverly addressed the defense attorneys, "Have the two defendants anything to say in either case?"

Benjamin Bachrach replied in a firm, clear voice, "No, your honor."

Caverly began reading. First he took up the appeal for mitigation of punishment; the defense had suggested the guilty plea, the age of the defendants, and their mental condition as grounds for mitigation.

But the judge replied that the guilty plea in this case did not conform to the customary pattern. It had been pleaded without the knowledge or consent of the state's attorney and had not lessened the work either of the court or of the state's attorney: "the plea of guilty did not in this particular case, as it usually does, render the task of the prosecution easier by subst.i.tuting admission of guilt for a possibly difficult and uncertain chain of proof.... The plea of guilty, therefore, does not make a special case in favor of the defendants."25 So there was nothing in mitigation on account of the guilty plea!

Caverly's voice had become a monotone; it droned on into the still air of the courtroom, flat and unemotional, but still the audience sat entranced, listening to every word.

"By pleading guilty," Caverly continued, "the defendants have admitted legal responsibility for their acts; the testimony has satisfied the court that the case is not one in which it could have been possible to set up successfully the defense of insanity." So Caverly would not, after all, convene a jury to decide the sanity of the defendants-perhaps Darrow would consider that route on appeal, but Caverly had concluded that the defendants could distinguish right from wrong and were thus legally sane.

Did the psychiatric evidence mean anything? Was Caverly willing to accept the psychiatrists' testimony as evidence of mental disease and consider it in mitigation?

"The court...feels impelled to dwell briefly on the ma.s.s of data produced as to the physical, mental and moral condition of the two defendants. They have been shown in essential respects to be abnormal.... The careful a.n.a.lysis made of the life history of the defendants and of their present mental, emotional, and ethical condition has been of extreme interest.... And yet the court feels strongly that similar a.n.a.lyses made of other persons accused of crime would probably reveal similar or different abnormalities.... For this reason the court is satisfied that his judgment in the present case cannot be affected thereby."

Elliptical language, but clear enough-now it seemed that Caverly was also to deny mental disease as a mitigating factor.

"The testimony in this case reveals a crime of singular atrocity. It is, in a sense, inexplicable; but it is not thereby rendered less inhuman or repulsive. It was deliberately planned and prepared for during a considerable period of time. It was executed with every feature of callousness and cruelty.... The court is satisfied that neither in the act itself, nor in its motive or lack of motive, nor in the antecedents of the offenders, can he find any mitigating circ.u.mstances."

Nathan Leopold Sr. sat directly behind his son, his arms gripping the back of his son's chair, his head inclined down, his eyes fixed on the floor. He raised his head to look at the judge; there were tears forming in his eyes as he heard that there was to be no mitigation. Jacob Loeb stared fixedly ahead, not directly at the judge but at the dais-he too looked forlorn as he heard the words that would kill his nephew. Toward the back of the court, there was now a slight stirring; the reporters were preparing to race to the telephones to read the death sentence to their editors; the messengers were already moving toward the door, ready to tell the wire services that Leopold and Loeb were to be hanged.26 Caverly had promised himself to include in his sentencing an appeal that in the future, such decisions not be devolved upon a single judge; now he made good on his promise. "In reaching his decision the court would have welcomed the counsel and support of others. In some states the legislature in its wisdom has provided for a bench of three judges to determine the penalty in cases such as this. Nevertheless the court is willing to meet his responsibilities."

But now, when everyone had already decided that Nathan and Richard were to be executed, Caverly began reading the words that would offer them hope.

"It would have been the path of least resistance to impose the extreme penalty of the law."

Nathan and Richard exchanged glances; could this be their salvation from the scaffold?

The words came slowly, almost ponderously, as though Caverly were teasing the courtroom with his verdict. "In choosing imprisonment instead of death the court is moved chiefly by the consideration of the age of the defendants, boys of 18 and 19 years.... The court believes that it is within his province to decline to impose the sentence of death on persons who are not of full age.

"This determination appears to be in accordance with the progress of criminal law all over the world and with the dictates of enlightened humanity. More than that, it seems to be in accordance with the precedents. .h.i.therto observed in this state. The records of Illinois show only two cases of minors who were put to death by legal process-to which number the court does not feel inclined to make an addition.

"Life imprisonment may not, at the moment, strike the public imagination as forcibly as would death by hanging but to the offenders, particularly of the type they are, the prolonged suffering of years of confinement may well be the severer form of retribution and expiation.

"The court feels it proper to add a final word concerning the effect of the parole law upon the punishment of these defendants. In the case of such atrocious crimes it is entirely within the discretion of the department of public welfare never to admit these defendants to parole. To such a policy the court urges them strictly to adhere. If this course is persevered in the punishment of these defendants will both satisfy the ends of justice and safeguard the interests of society.

"In number 33623, indictment for murder, the sentence of the Court is that you, Nathan F. Leopold, Jr., be confined in the penitentiary at Joliet for the term of your natural life....

"In 33623, indictment for murder, the sentence of the Court is that you, Richard Loeb, be confined in the penitentiary at Joliet for the term of your natural life....

"In 33624, kidnaping for ransom, it is the sentence of the Court that you, Nathan F. Leopold, Jr., be confined in the penitentiary at Joliet for the term of ninety-nine years.

"In 33624, kidnaping for ransom, the sentence of the Court is that you, Richard Loeb, be confined in the penitentiary at Joliet for the term of ninety-nine years.

"The Sheriff may retire with the prisoners."27

THE VERDICT-NINETY-NINE YEARS for kidnapping, life for the murder-was a victory for the defense, a defeat for the state. The guards allowed Nathan and Richard to shake Darrow's hand before escorting the prisoners back to the cells. Two dozen reporters crowded around the defense table to hear Darrow's response to the verdict, but even in his moment of victory, Darrow was careful not to seem too triumphal. "Well, it's just what we asked for but...it's pretty tough." He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. "It was more of a punishment than death would have been." for kidnapping, life for the murder-was a victory for the defense, a defeat for the state. The guards allowed Nathan and Richard to shake Darrow's hand before escorting the prisoners back to the cells. Two dozen reporters crowded around the defense table to hear Darrow's response to the verdict, but even in his moment of victory, Darrow was careful not to seem too triumphal. "Well, it's just what we asked for but...it's pretty tough." He pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. "It was more of a punishment than death would have been."28 He gave a characteristic shrug of his shoulders, a shrug of relief that he could now focus on the cause for which he had argued so long. "I have always hated capital punishment. This decision...caps my career as a criminal lawyer and starts my path in another direction.... I shall begin now to plan a definite campaign against capital punishment in Illinois. Perhaps I may be able to take up the matter with the legislature immediately."29 Nathan Leopold Sr. had already left the courtroom-he was too overcome to talk to the journalists-but Jacob Loeb remained behind to say a few words. "We have been spared the death penalty; but what have these families to look forward to?...Here are two families whose names here stood for everything that was good and reputable in the community. Now what have they to look forward to? Their unfortunate boys, aged 19 years, must spend the rest of their lives in prison. What is there in the future but grief and sorrow, darkness and despair?"

Robert Crowe was furious at the judge's decision; how could the death penalty ever again be imposed if these two malicious killers had escaped with a prison term? True, Caverly had asked that Leopold and Loeb never win parole, but it was at least possible that they would eventually be released. It was a bitterly disappointing verdict, and in his statement to the press, Crowe made sure everyone knew whom to blame. "When the state's attorney arrested the defendants he solved what was then a mystery. And by the thoroughness of his preparation of the case, the state's attorney forced the defendants to plead guilty, presented a mountain of evidence to the court and made his arguments.

"The state's attorney's duty was fully performed. He is in no measure responsible for the decision of the court. The responsibility for that decision rests with the judge alone."30 Later that day, Jacob Franks also spoke to the reporters. He was pleased that it was finally over. There was now no possibility that the defense would appeal the sentence. "There can be no hearing in regard to their sanity," Franks said; "there can be no appeal, there can be no more torture by seeing this thing spread over the front pages of the newspapers. It will be easier for Mrs. Franks and for me to be relieved of the terrible strain of all this publicity."31

NEITHER N NATHAN NOR R RICHARD HAD ever expressed remorse for the killing, and neither thought now to use their final interview with the press to admit contrition. Nathan, back in his cell in the county jail, was his customary imperious self; he called to the sheriff, Peter Hoffman, with one final request. ever expressed remorse for the killing, and neither thought now to use their final interview with the press to admit contrition. Nathan, back in his cell in the county jail, was his customary imperious self; he called to the sheriff, Peter Hoffman, with one final request.